The Lumberjack's Wife

The girls spent the night with their grandparents last night.  David had many errands to run today.  I was tempted to join him, but they were all pretty “farm and ranch-y,” so I told him I might rather stay home.

David:  Are you sure?  I think the boys want to come with me.

Me:  That’s cool.

David:  I feel bad that you might be home all day by yourself.

Me:  Have you heard about my life?

How could he think that would be a bad thing?  But, alas.  Handsome Dude decided he would rather stay with me.  This is very un-Handsome Dude like, as his entire purpose in this world is to become exactly like his father (because that is precisely what the world needs: two Davids.)

So.  Little Dude got all ready to go with Dad.  He even donned his new Carhartt jacket.

He points out the Carhartt “patch” to everyone.

“My patch!  See?  Patch?  SEE!?  Like Dad!    SEE?  SEE?!?!?!”

So, I was looking forward to a quiet day at home with my Handsome Dude.  Thought I might even catch up on some reading.  Perhaps even relax.

But I must have forgotten that I was spending the day with Handsome Dude.  So now, for your reading pleasure, I would like to present:

A Day  Two Hours with Handsome Dude.

First on the agenda:  A bike ride.

See?  He has the Carhartt patch, too.  He wears it with pride.

My bike had a flat tire.  I called David to see what sort of heavy machinery of his I would be needing to remedy my tire sitch.  As soon as he said:

“Well, hon, its gonna be pretty tricky for you.  First, you’re going to need to find the air compressor . . . ”

I decided my bike was totally fine for a quick bike ride, flat tires and all.  So, off we went and it was freezing.  I would venture to guess it was about 38 degrees.  No joke.

Handsome Dude:

“Mom!  Beat you to the cows!”

“Mom!  Beat you to the bison!”

“Mom!  Let’s go wee faster!”

Mom was a momsicle.  I was able to coerce him back inside at the promise of hot cocoa.

You would think this would be the time when I would finally be able to relax.  And you would be wrong.

We saw a bird.  A blue jay, if you will.

So, we had to stop everything and try to ascertain whether or not the bird was a Mr. or a Mrs.

Like I know.  We went with Mrs.  Next, we had to discuss with Mrs. Blue Jay might like to eat, seeing as how we are out of bird food.

I went with pieces of apple.  Like I know.

Handsome Dude then decided we should play Memory.

Then we had to check on Mrs. Blue Jay.

Candyland was next.  Handsome Dude nearly had a meltdown when I took the lead, because clearly I am uber talented at the complex game that is Candyland.

Then we had to check on Mrs. Blue Jay.

We had to load the fire because it is FREEZING today and I am my husband’s helpmeet who keeps the home fires burning.

Then we had to check on Mrs. Blue Jay.

I told Handsome Dude I really wanted to read.  He said, “No.”  Because he is agreeable like that.  I suggested he painted.

The idea tickled his fancy.

I meant to start reading, but was foolish and decided to clean the kitchen instead.

Handsome Dude:  Mom!  Did you change your mind?

Me:  About what?

Handsome Dude:  Reading!

Me:  Oh, well-

Handsome Dude:  BIRD!

Then we had to check on Mrs. Blue Jay.

Next, I suggested he play trains so I could read.  He reminded me that his train tracks are all discombobulated.  And no, he did not say “discombobulated.”  He is only four, people.

So I went to set up the train tracks.

Train Tracks.  Not for the faint of heart.

But I prevailed and now you must all be impressed, because the task was challenging for me.

And the only reason why I am able to type this very post to you is because I have distracted the boy with peanut butter and jelly.

The boy has finished the sandwich and is currently checking on Mrs. Blue Jay, watering the strawberry plant (because he doesn’t understand seasons and life, in general) and asking me if we can please go on a hike.

Oh, my lands.  It is FREEZING.  And I am ill-equipped to handle a bear attack or anything of that nature.

I think I am going to have to drink my afternoon coffee a bit earlier today.

Happy Weekend!

PS- Mrs. Blue Jay is digging my apples.  Holla!

While we were visiting Bimlissa and company in Tennessee, some of their friends invited us over for “barbecue.”  Or “BBQ” if you aren’t sure how to spell barbecue.  Like me.

As we were feasting, the Tennessee-ians (that is definitely not how you spell it) decided to quiz me a bit on the barbecue.

“Taylor.  What would y’all say barbecue is?”

Well.  A barbecue is kind of a multipurpose word around my regions.

A)  A barbecue is this:

(source)

A contraption used to “barbecue” meat and other various food items on.

and

B) A barbecue is an event.

As in:  “Want to come over for a barbecue?  My dad and uncle are barbecuing up some food and will praise themselves endlessly for their mad culinary skills.”

They think they are something else.

The Tennessee-ians were all aghast at my definition of a barbecue.  Aghast, I tell you.

“Whaaaaat?  Y’all gonna barbecue my food?  That sounds nasty!”

“No!  That is called a grill! Do y’all say grill?”

Finally, one of them asked me:

“Taylor.  What would you call what we ate for lunch today?”

Me:  “Ummm . . . . a shredded pork sandwich on a bun?”

Tennessee-ian (laughing at my ignorance):  “Whaaaat?  No!  What you ate was barbecue!  No one is gonna say, ‘Come over to my house for some shredded pork sandwiches on buns!’  That sounds real fun!”

So, whatever.  Apparently barbecue is a shredded meat/sauce combo.  Consider yourselves informed.

I would make a terrible Tennessee-ian.

***

As were we boarding the plane to come home, the pilots insisted the girls and I come inside the cockpit.

Correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t that against the rules nowadays?  I thought it was odd.  The girls got to push gabs of buttons and one started the rear engine and the other started the other engine.

Planes have multiple engines!  Who knew?!

Science.  Homeschool.  Check.

Is that science?  I cannot be certain.  It certainly isn’t language arts.  Science sounds good.

As I was snapping pictures, one of the pilots literally ripped the camera out of my hands and made me sit down for a picture.  Because I like looking like the world’s largest 8-year-old.

I totally look pregnant there.

Alert:  I have a large black purse in my lap.  I repeat, a large, black purse.

So, that was exciting.

***

At one point during our visit (Yes, I am now going out of chronological order.  Does this surprise you?), Bimlissa’s husband was speaking of his IPad.

Bimlissa: Hon, Taylor is not gonna know what an IPad is.

OK.  That’s taking it a bit far.  Sure, I am a total goober like my parents, but I am not THAT bad.

Bimlissa is so not invited to my birthday party anymore.

***

Speaking of my parents, I feel the need to re-share the story of how my dad became known as a goober on this here blog.

Please.  Try to contain your excitement.

Many moons ago, my dad received an IPod for his birthday.

Why?  We cannot be certain.

It sat on his nightstand for about four months, unopened.  For his birthday in April, he asked for ITunes gift cards.  He got about $100 worth and there they sat by the unopened IPod for a time.

One day, David and I were over at his house and Dad asked if we could help him figure out “that darn I-whatever.”

So, we get everything all set up and he selects two songs that tickle his fancy.

Dad:  Ok, that’s good.

Me:  Dad.  You have two songs.

Dad:  I know.  That sounds good for now.

Me:  Dad.  You have like $98 left in your account.

Dad:  I’ll buy more later.

So, there he went to mow the lawn, donning the headphones of his Two-Song-IPod.  He must’ve really liked those two songs.

Happy Tuesday!

I am reporting to you live and well from Tennessee.  We are having a lovely time thus far, the girls and I.  I don’t have tons of time, as I am feigning to watch the World Series, but I thought I would pop in and share with you a little bit about our day in Atlanta at the American Girl Store.

Here are the three girls outside the store.

My girls didn’t understand why on earth they would want a picture with their MOM in front of the store.

But I made them anyways.  As odd as it was.

First, we went to the American Girl Bistro for a tea party.

If you take a gander at the above photo, you will see that Daisy Mae is praying that this is not, in fact, a dream.

From left to right:

Sweet Pea, “J”, and Daisy Mae.

Daisy Mae was about to explode.  I kid you not.

The menu.  Which is always exciting, no matter where you are at.

The dolls also got to join in.  It is important to make any doll feel almost as if they are a part of the family.  Particularly dolls that cost an arm and a leg.  If you know what I mean.  And I think you do.

They got all sorts of food: cupcakes, tea sandwiches, fruit kabobs, yogurt, and all the hot chocolate they could ever need.

The American Girl Doll People think of everything.  They even help you make your doll feel special in the bathroom.

Which isn’t creepy at all.  In fact, I think I need something like this at home to strap my boys into.  They get into loads of trouble when I am trying to use the facilities.

The girls had some spending money and took forever and a day to decide on which items to purchase.  But they had a lovely time doing so and I think they had a fantastic day.

Many thanks to Bimlissa and her super sweet minivan for driving 10 hours in one day just so we could experience all that is The American Girl Store.

Holla, Bimlissa!

Since The Lumberjack reads this here blog (I think), let us all take a moment to reassure him that The American Girl Store is known for its awesome deals and cheap prices.  Rest assured, Lumberjack.  We hardly spent a dime.

Mmmm-hmmmm.

Alright!  I am having a swell time!  Here are some things I have accomplished thus far:

1)  Taken note of Bimlissa’s accessories so I can copy them.  We live many miles away now.  She will never know.

2)  Noted the price of diesel.  It is much cheaper here.  These are things that my husband will enjoy hearing upon my return.  He’s not into dolls.  FYI.

3)  Missed my boys.  Did you know they are the sweetest, most well-behaved pumpkins in the world?  Why did I leave them?

4)  Ate at Chik-fil-A.  Delish.

5)  Purchased a Diet Coke with vanilla from Sonic just for Zoe, a reader who insists I will abandon Diet Pepsi once I taste a Sonic Diet Coke.  It was good.  But it wasn’t THAT good.

6)  Well-played, Zoe.  Well-played.

7)  Spoke to my parents who were gracious enough to watch the boys while we were gone so David could work.  Was shocked to hear that my mom walked into the bathroom to find two naked boys and a shower curtain soaked with an unknown liquid.  Was even more shocked to hear I had forgot to pack the boys extra underwear.

8)  Oops.

9)  While I admit that in item number 3 of this very list you are reading, I pointed out that I missed the boys, I must also admit that I do not miss their disturbing bathroom adventures.

10)  Perhaps I shall have David install “Dude Fixtures” in my parents’ bathroom post haste.

And waterproof shower curtains.

Let us continue on with the illustrations about the crazy world I call home, shall we?  Today, I was chatting with a few other ladies about our manly-man-hunter-husbands.

Here’s the sitch:

1)  All of them have tasted, and enjoy venison/elk/moose, etc.

2)  Many have also helped grind their husbands’ kill.  And none of them understood why I was scarred for life.

3)  And, lastly but not leastly, one gal, who enjoys hunting as much as her husband, just pops her screens out her window and shoots her meat right from her house.

Because this is where I live, where I dwell.  These are my people.  We are one and the same.  Kinda.

My dad was not a hunter man, so this whole hunting world is just so strange to me.  David saw this little newspaper clip and told me it reminded him of yours truly:

(source)

And while we are on this lovely topic, let us reward the COW.

The COW stands for the Comment of the Week and in no way refers to anything my husband may or may not have shot.

Leanna wrote:

Now, my Daddy was also known to pick up ROAD KILL and feed it to his family (that would be me). Oh yes, oh yes he did. Fresh road kill, mind you. We would drive to church down this one particular back country road and I kid you not, he picked up three or four huge dear that had “just been” hit by vehiculars. Most times, the car that hit it was still there and he started carrying a TARP around in the back seat because there was no way no how that he was letting that critter go to waste.

I’m happy to say I’m still alive and we never contracted Road Kill’itis. I’m also happy to say I married a man who refuses to eat venison, or anything other than beef, pork and chicken because quite frankly, I was foundered on venison. Absolutely foundered.

The end, brave woman, the end.

Remind me to hide all tarps from my husband. Let us move on.

The girls and I are boarding a plane for Tennessee on the morrow.  In order to accomplish this, we will have to leave the house at 4am.  This means my boys are going to be hellions.  Maybe I should fill their sippy cups with coffee to help perk them up?  It always works for me.

We are off to see my dear friend Bimlissa, or as she is known everyone else, Melissa.  Bimlissa has a daughter my girls’ age, and they have missed their friend so.  The three of us are very excited about our trip.  I believe we will be driving to the American Girl store in Atlanta during the trip.

This may cause my girls to have heart attacks.  Their dolls are all dressed and ready to go.  They are not to be packed in the suitcases, but must be in the carry on bag.  Because everyone knows that dolls love plane rides.  I am just hoping the doll season lasts awhile longer.  I am not ready for my girls to grow up.

Anyways, I might be a bit quiet for awhile.  But would you all mind praying for my dad?  He is having some scary health problems and the doctors cannot figure out what is wrong with him.

Thank you all and have a lovely week!

Well.  I am sure you have all been on pins and needles . . . just dying to know if I did, in fact, grind up an elk this weekend.

Yes, folks.  Yes, I did.  And it wasn’t as glamorous as one might think.

Now, I put on Facebook that I was going to do said grinding, and people were mentioning that I should be thankful for all the fresh meat for my family . . .

Oh.  I’m thankful!  But, does that mean I can’t be grossed out?  It is a blessing to know you won’t starve.  We could live off of elk and applesauce out here for months.  MONTHS, I tell ya!

But I still maintain that it is nasty . . . what with all the blood and hair and general carnage.

Yet, this is the way people are in these here parts.  Allow me to explain by telling you a story . . . a little illustration, if you will.

On Friday night, we went to the local Walmart.  Our local Walmart is almost an hour away from Ruralville.  Because Ruralville is THAT cool.  At Walmart, David purchased freezer paper to wrap the meat that we would soon be grinding.

So, without further ado, I shall present to you:

A Closer Look Into The People that Live in My Region

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  What did you kill?

David:  An elk.

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  Good for you!  Huntins’ been terrible this year.  I don’t hardly know no one who got nothing.

David:  Yeah.

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  Get a bull, did ya?

David:  No, just a cow.

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  Still good eatin’ . . . still good eatin’.

David:  Yup.

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  I got nothin’ this year.  Under shot a bull on opening day.  Darn semi-blahblahblah froze up on me blahblahblah.  I tell ya what a blahblahblahblahblah.  Huntins’ been terrible. Can’t believe it.  My brother got a nice 4×4.  Real nice.

Lest any of you are confused, the blahblahblah parts refer to the words that I either a) did not understand or b) was not interested in.

David:  Yeah.

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  Well, have fun!

And fun we did have.  The next day, David’s hunting friend came.  We’ll call him Earl, because that sounds about right.  Earl did not bring his wife, so I stayed in the house at first and caught the girls up on some school.  About three hours later, I went out to see if I could offer them coffee.

Next thing I knew, I was changing into a flannel shirt and getting ready to load elk flesh into a meat grinder.

I will have you all know that I kept my uber cute earrings in.  A girl has to be fashionable, no matter what the occasion.  Holla!

So, I stuffed meat into that grinder and removed the occasional elk hair that would come my way.  Then I helped wrap and freeze the meat, counted my blessings to have a freezer full of FRESH meat, and vowed to become a vegetarian.

I told Earl that I was contemplating switching to the vegetarian team.  He informed that his wife was a vegetarian when he first met her.

“Yeah.  But I set her right.  One day I came home and she had caught and killed two squirrels and cooked them up for my lunch.  Been eatin’ meat ever since.”

And THAT, dear readers, is just a little glimpse of where I come from.  If you were curious.  And you know you were.

Don’t be jealous.

Today, I made a ukulele out of cardboard.  And it has been the highlight of my day, if that tells you anything.  Oh!  And I did give my mom a Facebook profile picture.  Sister Meagan and I are basically doing Facebook for mother.  So, that’s progressive.  Maybe next month, we’ll tell her what her password is.

Speaking of mother and Facebook, let’s do the COW.

This week’s goes to Mindee.

I’m kind of tempted to try to friend your mom just to see if she’ll
a) freak that strangers are stalking her via facebook or
b) accept my friend request and pretend she knows me and spend three days racking her brain trying to figure out how.

Do it, Mindee!  It will bring me much amusement.

It’s been a blah day today.  A day in which I wonder why on earth I am homeschooling.  I have those days often, it seems.  We have lots of things to do because on Tuesday, the girls and I are boarding a plane and heading to Tennessee!  For to see Bimlissa!

It occurred to me that we get back on the 30th at 11pm.  Therefore, I need to figure out Halloween costumes.  And I loathe Halloween costumes.  LOATHE.  We raided the dress up bin and found the following:

Little Dude:  Cow

Handsome Dude:  Monkey (Repeat from last year.  We don’t care and neither should you.)

Daisy Mae:  Tinkerbell

Sweet Pea:  American Girl Molly when she was dressed up as a hula girl.  But everyone will just think she is a hula girl.  But we shall pretend, because I don’t have time for her to come up with something else.

Sweet Pea’s costume is why I made the cardboard ukelele, if you must know.  And all I need to purchase is a lei for Sweet Pea to adorn around her neck and we are ready for stupid Halloween.  Of which I loathe.

In other news, I am loving Pinterest.  I found two homeschool lessons on there this very afternoon!  I also have an entire pinboard devoted to crafts I want to do, but am unable to, due to my lack of a brain, general hand/eye coordination, and sewing skills.  Or skillz.  Whichever you prefer.  This pinboard is suitably named:

“Crafts to Talk Lisa into Doing With Me.”

Lisa is my sister-in-law.  Please try to keep up.  She is more woman that I’ll ever be.  And she even has an extensive knowledge of power tools. She is probably at home darning socks or sewing a new slip cover for her couch at this very moment and NOT reading this blog.  But what-ev. She is crafty.  I am not.

Here are some of things that Lisa (hint, hint) should do with me.  Sometime.  Soon.

Flower Wreath

And this one:

T-Shirt Ruffle Scarf

While we are at it, someone needs to show me how to properly wear a scarf.  Because that is also something I fail at.

(If anyone needs an invite to Pinterest, email me at thelumberjackswife@gmail.com.  If you want to follow me on Pinterest, here I am)

While we are on the topic of Things Taylor Is Not Good At, let us talk about my poor skills as a hunter’s wife.

Now.  People.  There is an elk carcass hanging from the ceiling in my garage at this very moment.  I believe it is there to dry out the blood.  If you must know.

Tomorrow a hunting-man-friend of David’s is coming over to help us grind the meat ourselves so we do not have to pay anyone to do so.

Ew.

Quick!  Help me come up with reasons why I can’t be out there grinding said meat!  I think I am going to use the kids as an excuse.

But, pray tell, what shall I do if Hunter-Man-Friend brings his wife?  Oh, for the embarassment of it all.  I can’t be inside while the three of them are grinding (ew) away!

Maybe I need to get the flu?

Please Advise.

David drives a work van to work.  No!  He is not a lumberjack.  He is an electrician.  I don’t understand why everyone is so confused about this?  Anyways, my boys think that work vans are the coolest thing in the world.  And they are.  Obviously.

Yesterday during Bible class, we were talking about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

I would like everyone to know that I spelled those three names correctly on the first try.  Be impressed.

I was explaining that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego worked for the King.

Handsome Dude, in his most scholarly voice:  Yeah.  And they drove a work van everyday to work.

I thought my girls would never recover.

Later on in the day, I was reviewing our Latin sounds and vocabulary.

Yes!  I teach Latin.  Be impressed.

Anyways, Daisy Mae kept getting confused on the letter A sound in Latin.  “A” in Latin sounds more like “ah” as in “father.”  So, I kept going over the sound with her.  Little Dude was just above us in the loft, playing trains, as per his usual custom.

Me:  What does “A” say?

Little Dude, SHOUTING, because that is what he does best: A like Apple!

Poor Daisy Mae could never even think about what I was asking her.  Mr. Know-It-All just kept shouting the “A is for Apple” phrase over and over in his most “why AREN’T you getting this?!” voice.

Young children and school.  So helpful.  So wonderful.

I was talking with my friend, Rita, yesterday, who is also a homeschooling marm.  We were discussing the young children and homeschooling conundrum.  I am sure many of you fellow homeschooling marmies also have this issue.

So.  What are your tricks for occupying your little ones while you homeschooling your older ones?

Here is what I do.  And my house is always in a peaceful, happy state, so you should take heed of my advice.

1)  If the boys are on the main floor, which is where we are homeschooling, they must be playing quietly.  I have puzzles, blocks, coloring supplies, etc that they can do.

2)  They can sit at the table and do “work” with us, but they must keep quiet.

3)  If they want to race trucks through the house and yell and holler to each other, they have to go downstairs.  And trust me.  This is their favorite activity, bless their hearts.

4)  I have a whole hope chest thing full of special activities they can do during school:  lacing cards, pattern blocks, games, puzzles, etc.

This plan is working very well this year and I have hardly ever had to resort to using the television.

Holla!

***

Last night, I went shopping.  All by myself.  Can you believe it?!

As I was paying for my items, the sales gal noticed my wallet.  And rightly so, because my wallet is uber cute.

I don’t know if any of you are familiar with Dave Ramsey, but we try to do his “cash envelope” system.  Anyways, one of my biggest problems was I would always leave the huge, bulky envelope system thing at home.  Which is super unhelpful when you are trying to buy stuff with cash.  So, I ordered a wallet that has the cash envelopes built right in.

I love it!  It’s the cutest thing since sliced bread!  I got it from Melissa from A Time for Everything.

Anyways, if any of you are interested in such a thing, you should check her out her shop.  She has lots of cute stuff.  And you know I wouldn’t lie.

Alright.  I must now begin the homeschooling.  Feel free to share any homeschooling tips and tricks for the young ones in the comments.

Have a lovely day!

Little Dude insists on wearing his underwear backwards.  Because that looks comfortable.  Me:  Dude, your underwear is on wrong.

Little Dude, looking at his *ahem* “areas”: No!  Its not wrong!

Me:  Yes, they are.

Little Dude, shouting because I anger him so:  NO, MOM!  YOU CAN’T SEE MY *UNIT*!  ITS NOT WRONG!

Apparently, Little Dude feels that as long as cloth is covering the area, he is in the clear.

Lest any of you are confused, he used the “p” word.  I don’t think I can say the “p” word on my blog.  It seems a bit shady.

When I first had my girls, I refused to use the proper names for private parts.  Because I am mature like that.  I would call the aforementioned areas “front bottom” and “back bottom.”  This is what my mother taught me, and I carried the torch to the younger generations.

So I have no idea how it came to be that my boys say the “p” word so freely.

Once they were in the bath together and I caught them standing up and dancing all around singing:

“Shake your booty!  Shake your booty!”

Shocked I quickly became at the thought of my boys knowing, and gyrating to, a song such as this.  I can only assume it was from the influence of their big sisters.

Again, I do not know how the girls’ heard this song.  I can’t even blame their school. Anyways, the boys were singing that vile song.

Me:  Boys!  You cannot sing about shaking your booty!

Boys:  O-Tay, Mom!

So, I started to leave when I heard:

“Shake you *unit*!  Shake your *unit*!”

And they were giggling and laughing and, yes . . . they were shaking their *units.*

Me:  No!  No shaking that!

Handsome Dude:  What can we shake?

Me:  Your heads.

So there they were.  My two precious, albeit naked boys, sitting in the bath and bobbing their heads all around whilst singing:

“Shake your head!  Shake your head!”

Raise your hand if you think Taylor will not survive the teenage years.

Let’s move on!

I got a comment and it excited me, as comments do, but this one sorta weirded me out.

The comment was from “Paul.”  Now, my father-in-law’s name is Paul and he talks endlessly about how he feels I should write a book.

“Taylor, if you write a book, I’ll read it!”

“Taylor, you future writer you!”

“Taylor, one of these days, I’m gonna find that blog of yours on the Internet!”

Yes.  That will be swell.  So, if he hasn’t found my elusive blog, than why does he think I should become a writer?

Well.

I don’t know.  Perhaps my emails are well-written and witty.  I think I have emailed him thrice.  But, anyways, I saw a comment from “Paul” and I thought:

“Oh, snap!  He found it!”

And I was secretly relieved that I have always refrained from typing out the “p” word.  You see, people!  There is a method to my madness.

But as I began to read the comment, I began to doubt it was the Paul I know, as he was professing his love to my blog and declaring me his long lost friend.  Which was even more awkward than the “p” word.

So, I looked at the email.  It was from someone named Paul the Ripper.  And I don’t think I should trust anyone with the last name of “The Ripper.”

I look at the comment again, and it seemed familiar.  It was an old comment from Tanna a year ago that a spammer had copied and tried to get me to approve!  I never heard of such a thing!

Such trickery!  Such deception!

So, there you go, fellow bloggers.  Be alert!  Be on guard!  The spammers are crafty these days!

Alright.  Peace out.